The Second Scythe Mister
by twilightjunkie1313
Summary: it could have been much worse. Of course, he didn't realize this until much later, specifically when he met Maka Albarn. The girl did not look like she was capable of wielding such a complex weapon.


**Hypothetical**

The first day Death the Kid set foot on the grounds of the DWMA, marveling at the symmetry of the structure, he appeared three hours late.

It went downhill from there. Before making it inside the doors (the perfectly symmetrical doors) he managed to get into a fight with the loud mouthed idiot mister and a white haired weapon. They were an easy match. Death the kid had been able to defend himself since he was nine years old, his two weapons partners (equally capable of defending themselves and their mister) made the task of blasting the unwelcoming DWMA students away a cakewalk.

Still, it was a negative first impression. Not to mention the scuff marks and chunks of wall now missing from the exterior. Those would take more than a day to replace, so the young reaper would have to see them tomorrow. It ruined the effect of his father's perfectly designed school. Worse still, there was not a teacher or student at the academy who hadn't heard the reaper and his weapons blow the school to bits.

It could have been worse.

While everybody heard the scuffle between Lord Death's son and two idiot students, only four people managed to witness it.

…

It could have been much worse.

Death the Kid didn't realize this until later, specifically when he met Maka Albarn.

She introduced herself with a calm competent sentence and a firm but unthreatening handshake. She was perfectly symmetrical, impossibly intelligent with a slightly thin build for a mister.

It was his second day, due to his own insistence and a few recommendations by Dr. Stien he managed to get himself (and his weapons) placed in an advanced sparring class. She was also there, along with the white haired weapon and a score of much older DWMA students.

There were a lot of stares, directed mainly at the young reaper and the two sisters just behind him. A few murmurs and eventually the half-request half challenge called to the professor, begging to let the young reaper have a go at a match.

It escalated slightly from there, until the entire classroom buzzed with commentary about the reaper's first day, the background of the twin pistols he took as weapons and the incompetence Soul had shown by failing to fight with his partner… instead trying to choose a new one without bothering to resonate first.

It was silenced with a high-pitched whistle from the professor, the class regained order and Death the Kid suppressed a slight sigh of relief. He wasn't keen to fight again, he had made enough of a bad impression his first day.

So when the professor announced that they were going to be sparring in uneven groupings, and that they would not be reviewing the entire previous terms lessons just because a new student arrived…

Death the kid felt all eyes fall on him.

It was the girl who pulled the focus of the class away, unintentionally, by raising her hand and requesting to spar first.

"Sir? May Soul and I be the first team?"

…

The professor nodded to the girl and the white haired weapon shuffled casually behind her into an unoccupied section of space in the classroom. The space was huge, concrete and the size of eight gymnasiums, well lit and sturdy looking; despite missing chunks out of the wall or floor here and there.

Death the kid watched as the professor called three mister and weapon pairs to spar with the girl and the weapon.

Behind him he heard Liz scoff in apprehension. He could hardly blame her for the reaction. Compared to the six older students, the wiry built girl and the boy with his hands in his pockets (in his pockets, right before a battle) looked like easy targets.

"Ready?" The professor called.

"Three!"

Two of the three opposing teams took battle stances, misters grasping their weapons, eyes locked on the girl.

"Two!"

They spread out into a half circle, the girl and her partner in the middle. Death the Kid noticed the white haired weapon sigh and slide into weapon form.

"One!"

The other students and the final weapon mister pair shifted, all at once.

"Go."

…

Two misters approached the girl. She easily slid a half step back and raised the handle of her scythe, a dual handed block that she threw her weight behind, her first opponent stumbled off balance. She pulled back, shifting her weight and sliding a foot back just as she changes her grip and brings the scythe forward again. Her entire body lower, the movement sending her blade inches from the throat of the mister she just knocked to the floor.

"Down!" She called as she turned away from the mister who staggered out of the way.

The other two misters charged in unison. The girl stood still (perfectly straight and calm) for a fraction of a second, spinning the scythe haphazardly in her grip. Just before the first mister reached her, weapon raised, she shifted her stance. Sliding one leg out and half kneeling the scythe mister swung her weapon with both hands.

The blade made a clean slice through the shirt of the opposing mister.

"Down!" The girl called.

The defeated mister sidestepped just as the last mister approached, sword drawn in a light overhand grip. The girl, unable to swing the blade around, rammed the approaching mister with the end of the scythe's handle. A clean shot to the ribs, followed by the sound of a bone fracturing. The girl's opponent fell to the floor.

The sword clattered from the opposing mister's grip and the girl swung the scythe blade around gracefully, bringing it to a stop a half inch from the throat of her final opponent.

"Down!" It was the professor who called it.

…

As Death the Kid watched the battle wrapped up. The scythe returned to human form, the sword (now also human) approached its mister and offered to escort him to the nurse. The class buzzed in conversation about the match as the professor wrote up a hall pass for the wounded mister and his weapon.

The scythe mister and her weapon hadn't moved to re-join the class. Instead they were talking to each other in even voices.

…

Death the kid was impressed. He had only met one other scythe mister, his own father. The skill his father demonstrated with the weapon was impressive, even if the young reaper only watched him playfully spar for practice.

This girl, Maka Albarn, was the daughter of his father's scythe. (If he recalled correctly, the girl's mother was the mister who made spirit into a death scythe.) A fact he was both impressed and uninterested in.

He watched as she continued to talk to Soul. The young reaper was confused. The girl did not look like she was capable of wielding such a complex weapon. Nor did she, dressed neatly (except for the metal cuffed boots) soft spoken and polite, seem a good partner for the unsymmetrical and overly aloof scythe.

Still.

…

END.

Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater.


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